Clutch (Custom Culture)

by Tess Oliver

  Barrett hovered nearby with his hands deep in his pockets looking sheepish and dodging direct eye contact. The medics started to push the gurney. “Hey guys, hold on a second. Rett, come over here.”

  He walked over. Not all the color had returned to his face yet. I lifted my hand and motioned him closer with my fingers. He leaned down. “I’m glad you’re here, Bro,” I said quietly and honestly. Then I slapped the back of his head like I used to do whenever he did something stupid. “Idiot.”

  He straightened and rubbed the back of his head. “I guess I should’ve written a text with the picture letting Nix know you were all right.”

  “You think?” I took one last look at my beloved Chevelle. The next time I was feeling off before a race, I was definitely staying home. “Go ahead,” I told the medics.

  ***

  An hour into the pain pills, it was easy to understand how people became addicted to them. I’d felt like shit in the examination room and during the x-rays on my rib cage and my knee that had swollen to the size of a grapefruit during the ambulance ride. Nothing had been broken, at least not any bones.

  Removing my shirt and shoes was about all the effort I could put into getting ready for bed. My bedroom looked strangely smaller as I stretched out on my mattress and enjoyed the blissful numbness that had started as a haze in my aching head and had since flowed down to my feet. My knee throbbed as the skin rubbed against the rough material of my jeans, but after the crash I’d just lived through, I had no real right to feel as good as I did. Rowdy had had the Chevelle towed to the shop, but I was sure even the parts wouldn’t be worth much.

  I had no patience to flip through the hundreds of channels on television. I lifted the remote and switched it off. The only light and sound was coming from the front room where Barrett was watching a movie. He’d hardly talked the entire ride home, and I’d probably been too hard on him. He had witnessed his brother crashing into a guardrail just minutes before making two stunningly stupid decisions. He’d had no real excuse for telling Taylor that she’d distracted me just before the race except that she’d asked him what had happened and it was the first response that had fallen out of his mouth. He’d pout about it for a day or two, but he got over things quickly.

  My door opened and Barrett walked in with a glass of water. He lowered it onto my nightstand. “For the pain meds because I know what a wuss you are about swallowing. Plus, that type of pill gives you cotton mouth.”

  “Spoken like a true expert. I was wondering if I should hide the bottles.” I regretted the comment instantly. His face dropped. “I’m kidding, Rett. It’s the pills talking. Thanks for driving me home.”

  He nodded.

  “Hey, how long has Taylor been hanging out with that scumbag?”

  The avoidance move made a third appearance for the evening. Barrett glanced at the floor as if he was checking out the carpeting. “I’m not completely sure. It’s not any big deal. I’d stopped hanging with him—” he reached for the prescription bottles on my nightstand, shoved them inside and shut the drawer. “Gus is too much temptation. The guy loves to get high. He’s a good salesman, and I’m a fucking pushover.”

  “Great, and Taylor’s hanging out with him.” I was quickly regretting starting this conversation. My head was already pounding.

  “Taylor has never liked any of that shit. When he’s not over-the top wasted, the guy is pretty interesting to be around. He’s seen a lot of the world, and he has one of the most dangerous jobs. Chicks love that.”

  “Yeah, that’s just fucking awesome.” I pressed my arm against my rib cage. It felt as if I’d scrambled the bones around and put them back in the wrong place. Breathing regularly was a chore.

  “Uh, considering how Taylor reacted tonight when she witnessed the accident, I don’t think you have too much to worry about.”

  There was a knock at the front door. “You expecting someone?” I asked.

  “Not me. Don’t get up. I’ll go see who it is.”

  “I think it would take a crane to get me off this bed.”

  Barrett left the room. My eyelids felt heavy and my eyes drifted shut. I was on the edge of a deep, drug-laced sleep when soft breathing pulled me back. My mind was in a fog, but I knew whose lips the breath had floated from. Even after the night I’d had, I knew who was standing in my room before I opened my eyes.

  I turned my head. The light from the living room framed her breath-stealing silhouette and then my eyes focused enough to see her face clearly in the faint light. The paleness had gone, but shock and distress still marred her amazing face.

  “Don’t look like that, Taylor. None of this was your fault.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “Barrett said—”

  “Since when do you listen to anything Rett says? Really, I’m fine, and these painkillers are fucking awesome.”

  She smiled beneath the stream of tears. She stood there for a long silent minute and then she walked across the room, slipped off her sandals and lifted the covers. My heart pounded against my sore ribs as she slid under the blankets and tucked herself in next to me.

  Her sweet smelling warmth was even more comforting than the drugs as I cradled her against my sore ribs. She pressed her face against my chest.

  So much had happened in the space of one evening, and my head was spinning from all of it. But nothing was more significant than this moment, holding Taylor, the woman I loved, in my arms.

  She snuggled next to me, and her familiar fragrance filled my senses, senses that were heightened by the drugs and by having her so damn close.

  She lifted her face and looked up at me. “By the way, this doesn’t change anything. I still hate you.”

  I pulled her closer and had to restrain myself from holding her too tightly. “Yeah, I know.”

  Chapter 16

  Taylor

  My phone buzzed in my pocket waking me from a sound sleep. Lying tucked against Clutch’s hard chest with his massive arms around me felt just as I’d expected, safe, comforting and right. I was meant to be this close to him always but crazy stuff always seemed to get in the way. And, as much as I knew this was the place I was supposed to be, he seemed completely unsure. Tonight, when I’d seen his car fly into the guardrail, I’d grabbed Gus’s arm to keep from falling to my knees. As soon as I’d felt steady enough to run, I jammed through the crowd to get to him, terrified of what I might find when I got there. More than once, Jason had told me the tragic story of how Nix watched his dad die in a car race, and that horrifying scenario flashed through my mind as I ran to him.

  Relief had washed over me as I saw him emerge from his car and walk to the gurney, but when Barrett had let it slip that he’d seen me in the crowd with Gus just before the race, the horror returned. Gus had dropped me back off at the park to wait for a ride that I knew wasn’t ever coming. Once his car was out of sight, I walked to the nearest bus stop. I had to see Clutch. I had to know that he was all right.

  Clutch took a deep breath, and his chest pressed harder against my cheek. I could hear the steady, slow beat of his heart. The pain medication had dropped him into a deep sleep. My phone buzzed again with urgency. I managed to free an arm and reach into my pocket.

  “You should get home now,” Jason’s text read. It was amazing how much command and threat my brother could put into five words.

  I slid the phone back into my pocket and looked up at Clutch’s face. He was breathtaking even in sleep. I scooted up and his arms instinctively tightened around me as if he had no intention of letting me slip away. If only that were the case. If only he knew that all he had to do was ask and I would stay with him forever. I kissed his lips lightly and he stirred but didn’t wake.

  I managed to free myself from his grasp. I slipped on my sandals and tiptoed out of the room. Barrett was stretched out on the couch with his arm hanging on the ground and his hand still wrappe
d around a beer. He was fast asleep.

  I crept across the room, hoping I hadn’t missed the midnight bus or I’d be even later getting home. At this point, I just didn’t give a shit what my parents had to say about me being out late.

  “Let me give you a ride home, Tater,” a groggy voice floated up from the couch.

  “I’ll just take the bus.”

  Barrett sat up and combed his long hair back with his fingers. He squinted into the light of the room. “Nah, it’s late. All kinds of mass murderers ride those buses at this hour.”

  “All kinds? I didn’t know there was a variety of them out there.”

  He reached for his shoes and put them on. “Hell yeah, there is.” He pushed up from the couch and reached into his pocket for keys. He reached the door and smiled down at me with those blue eyes that were his strongest weapon. “And they all love to prey on pretty girls with copper hair and pouty lips.”

  “Oh?” We walked outside. I hugged myself against the drastic drop in temperature from being wrapped in Clutch’s giant arms to the cool, clear spring night. “How do you know they don’t like pretty boys with blond hair?”

  He scowled down at me. “You know I hate being called pretty.”

  “That is why I chose that particular adjective.” I walked over to the passenger side. “But, hey, thanks for the lift. From the text I just received from Jason, it seems a fun therapy and intervention session is waiting for me at home.” I climbed inside the cab and realized that my load was a little light. “Damn it, I left my backpack in the back of Gus’s car. I guess I’ve just blown my out late studying cover.”

  Barrett looked over at me as he stuck the key in the ignition. “Seriously? Your parents thought you were out studying?”

  “Hey, I study.”

  His laughter filled the truck cab as he backed out of the driveway.

  I reached forward and messed with the radio until something decent came on. “He’s going to really feel this tomorrow,” I said quietly into the blaring music.

  “Yep, it’s always worse the next day.” Barrett glanced over at me. “Thanks for coming to see him tonight. I’m sure it made him feel better.”

  “He was so drugged up, I doubt he’ll even remember I was there.”

  He laughed again, but it had a completely different sound. “Believe me, he’ll remember it. Don’t worry about your backpack. I’ll get it back from Gus. I know you were going to tell him that you couldn’t hang out with him anymore. How’d he take it?”

  I stared silently out the passenger window.

  “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

  I shrugged. “So much happened tonight, I just didn’t have the strength to do it. But I will. Besides, he’s leaving in two weeks and then he’ll be thousands of miles away.”

  “Coward.”

  “Right, I’m a coward. How many girls have you dated or gone home with that you’ve never called again?” I held up my hand. “Don’t bother to try and count. The ride home isn’t that long.”

  My street was dark and quiet as the truck puttered along between the neatly trimmed lawns. The cement sidewalks glowed beneath a nearly full moon. Barrett turned off the headlights several houses before mine. “Just in case your dad’s got a shotgun sitting across his lap while he’s perched rigid in his recliner waiting for his little troublemaker to come home.”

  “Thanks for that charming scenario. Like my heart isn’t already beating fast enough.”

  His eyes widened and worry crossed his face. “He doesn’t really have a gun, does he?” He grabbed my wrist. “He wouldn’t hurt you, right?”

  His concern was cute and something I’d rarely seen from him. “No, he wouldn’t unless you count yelling at me at the top of his lungs. That does hurt my ears some.” I reached for the door and then smiled back at him. “You know I always think of you as just this good-looking guy who doesn’t have much deep in here.” I touched his chest. “There’s hope for you yet, Barrett Mason.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for the ride back to the Dungeon of Doom.”

  My fingers trembled some as I pushed the key into the door. The only light on was the dim light Mom left on in the kitchen in case someone needed a glass of milk in the middle of the night. She’d always insisted it was for safety, but I was pretty sure it was so no one would spill anything on her glistening counters.

  The house was eerily quiet as I crept down the long hallway to my bedroom. I would have almost preferred to have them meet me head on in the entryway or the kitchen. My heart was jumping around in my chest and I was bracing for a surprise attack. The flickering light coming from beneath their door let me know they were still up watching television. I passed their room and the light turned off. The only sound in the house was my grandmother’s old mantle clock, the icemaker in the refrigerator and the pulse pounding in my ears.

  I reached my door and slid inside. If I was going to face them, I preferred it to be on my own territory, especially because the mess in my room would probably distract my mom from the lecture. I washed my face and changed into the long t-shirt I always wore to bed. The wait was killing me. I just wanted to get it all over with. I had every intention of telling them everything. I was growing tired of making up stories and lies.

  I climbed into bed and sat up against the bed board, watching for the door knob to turn like in one of those horror movies where the girl hears footsteps and then waits for the door to open. But there were no footsteps, only terrifying silence. All kinds of weird scenarios floated through my imagination, like waking up in the morning and finding myself strapped into the seat of an airplane headed to Florida. Or maybe they’d just put locks on the outside of the door and cut a slit to slide food into me. An unsettling quiet pervaded every corner of the house.

  I leaned my head back and shut my eyes trying to relive the feeling of being wrapped in Clutch’s arms. I would have given anything to be back there pressed against him, his soft snores ruffling the hair on the top of my head. My phone buzzed from the pocket of the shorts I’d thrown on the floor. I lunged for it as if the low vibration could be heard throughout the house.

  I glanced at the screen, and my heart flipped around in my chest again but for a completely different reason. I’d called him hundreds of times, but I could count his phone calls on one hand.

  “Hey,” I said quietly. Every sound disturbed the stillness of the house.

  There was a long pause and for a moment I thought he would hang up. “I woke up and you weren’t there.” I could sense that he was in physical pain.

  “I needed to get home.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Take another pill.”

  “The only painkiller I need is you lying next to me.”

  I smiled and closed my eyes absorbing the words even though I knew they were probably a result of the drugs. “You’re high.”

  He grew silent and I wondered if he’d drifted back off to sleep. “I’m not high. I want you, Taylor, here, next to me. Fuck what everyone else thinks. I need you.”

  “I know you do, you jerk.” My throat tightened and it was hard to talk. “I’ve been trying to tell you that for two years.”

  I could hear his breathing through the phone, and I shut my eyes again and imagined it caressing my mouth before he kissed me.

  “Do you still hate me?”

  Unexpected tears rolled down my cheeks. This man certainly had a knack for making me cry. “Yes, I do.”

  “Are you crying?”

  “No— yes— maybe.” I wiped my tears away with the sleeve of my t-shirt.

  “Taylor,” he said quietly, “I never stop thinking about you.” His labored breaths stuttered through the phone. “I’ve never stopped.” I heard his bed squeak and he groaned in pain. My tears flowed faster.

  My voice caught in my throat and I swallowed and took a deep breat
h. It was the pills talking, and I had to keep my head. “Hey, Viking, stop being so stoic and take a damn pill.”

  “I will,” he finally said. “But I’m still not going to sleep without you pressed against me.”

  “Good night, Clutch.”

  Chapter 17

  Clutch

  Barrett looked up from his bowl of cereal. “There’s no way you’re going in today. You look like— like you were in a car crash.” He smiled at his stupid comment and lifted the bowl to drink the milk.

  The distance to the coffee pot seemed daunting. What normally took me three long strides across the floor turned into seven painstaking shuffles. My knee throbbed with every step but favoring the other leg sent a stab of pain through my back.

  Barrett laughed as he lowered the bowl. “Holy shit, you look just like Grandpa Mason. I still remember when he would come to visit and he’d take those little mini steps, and if you got stuck behind him in the hallway, you had to wait like thirty minutes to get to the other end.”

  Pouring coffee took some effort. I turned around in slow motion and slid out a chair. The legs of the chair creaked as my knee gave out halfway down and I plopped down hard on the seat. I looked across the table at Barrett. “Jackass.” I took a sip of coffee and nearly spit it out. “Who the hell taught you how to make coffee? It tastes like tar.”

  “That’s how we made it on the boat, thick and black just like the cowboys used to drink it.”

  “Push the milk this way, Wild Bill. Maybe I can still save my cup.”

  Barrett slid the milk carton toward me, and I drowned the coffee with milk. “Thanks for taking Taylor home last night.” I’d woken to the lingering fragrance of her perfume on my sheets, and all I could think was that I wanted her to still be there my wrapped within my arms, pressing her sweet, seductive body against me. It would have definitely given me incentive to stay in bed instead of ignoring the painful protest from every muscle in my body.